


Grant's Story

by GettheSalt



Series: Agents of SPN [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Demon Ward, Gen, Team Coulson as hunters, spn au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettheSalt/pseuds/GettheSalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some demons are hundreds of years old. The one who took Grant Ward's soul certainly is. They don't long for the things that he does, but sixty years into his damnation, he'll go to any length it takes to try and get back the thing he gave away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grant's Story

“I can fix that problem for you.”

Seven words that had seemed so innocent. And, at the time, incredible. There shouldn't have been any way to have made 'that problem' be considered fixed. It wasn't until the eyes of the stranger with the rich clothes and the receding hairline went red that Grant thought maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

He had known better than to believe that notion. Even though their family was 'forward thinking' and 'future focused', wives tales and superstitions had still made their way into his upbringing. They had given Grant the knowledge to know exactly what he was dealing with, but something had stopped him from telling the stranger to stop talking.

Maybe it was the fact that Christian was being handed the family legacy, and estate, after everything he had done. In _spite_ of everything he had done. Maybe it was the fact that Charlotte was locked behind steel doors in the asylum outside of town; out of sight, out of mind, except for Grant's. Maybe it was the fact that Thomas' grave was still visited by their lying mother, where she would wail to all who would listen about how he was taken too soon by a tragic accident, but would wait until the doors were closed to threaten Grant with the same. While their father simply watched, and told him to stay quiet.

Of two sons left in the house, of two children left of the four, Grant was the whipping boy. And yet, here was this stranger, a crossroads demon, saying that could all be fixed?

Grant couldn't be blamed for saying yes, could he?

He'd gotten out of there that night, and never once looked back. There wouldn't have been anything to look back at if he had bothered. The estate burned down in the early hours of the morning. Charlotte disappeared into the Government's care, Christian, mother and father were laid to rest with Thomas, and Grant was declared lost in the fire. He had a headstone.

The stranger, John Garrett, had taken care of that stone, a decade later. On the same night that he'd told Grant it was time to give up what he'd offered to pay all those years ago. At that point, he hadn't had a reason to say no. What was the point in refusing, in trying to hold on to humanity? It had no ties to him, not anymore.

So, he'd handed over his soul. That had hurt. Like a bitch. Hellhounds. They were deathly, painfully effective.

He'd expected a lifetime of damnation. Well, an eternity of damnation. What he hadn't expected was for John Garrett to stroll in, somewhere around his three hundred and sixtieth year, and ask him if he wanted off the rack, and out of the cage, and free of the fire.

And what was he supposed to say? 'No, no, thanks, I'm really enjoying the never-ending plethora of torture I'm experiencing here in Hell, but I appreciate the offer'?

Of course he'd said yes.

His reward had been his position, and his body back. Some demon had been 'keeping it warm and safe' for him for the last two years. Ward hadn't really asked about all that, didn't like asking about the details of someone else being in his meatsuit. He had just taken it back.

That was something like forty years ago. Give or take. Forty years of being Garrett's right hand demon. Forty years of doing what he was asked, and, if he was honest, eleven years of being sick of it. On the inside. You didn't tell Garrett straight up that you didn't think you wanted to be part of his ragtag group of demons anymore. You didn't tell Garrett you were wondering if there was a way to find one's humanity after you gave it away.

Two years of trying to figure out how to get out, one year of tracking a pair of names ( _Melinda May_ and _Phil Coulson_ ), and seven years of putting his plan into place. Of becoming, for all intents and purposes, a hunter.

And that, _that_ was difficult. Avoiding salt, holy water, magic knifes and special bullets. Hoping and praying, when working with other hunters, that no one would get it in their head to say something like ' _Christo_ ', and look at him when they did. Ward got good at it, though. Good enough that when he finally met Phil Coulson, the man _actually_ seemed to like him.

Garrett hadn't been too pleased, though. Ward hadn't quite worked out that part of his scheme. Garrett, the demon who had saved him from his family, who had made him who he was, the King of the Crossroads, wasn't someone you crossed. Thankfully, Garrett hadn't caught on to what Grant was concocting until Melinda May had done the impossible.

She'd escaped from Purgatory.

The story of how she'd ended up there was vague, confusing, and no one, not one single hunter that Ward talked to, knew what had happened. All anyone knew was that she was back, and she had defied the laws of the universe in order to do it.

And escaping from Purgatory was exactly what Garrett was concerned with. He enjoyed his life. He'd spent a lot of time – many hundreds of years – fashioning his life to his liking. He wasn't keen to end up in Purgatory. Finding out how to escape that eternity? That was tantamount to Garrett's sanity.

It had been almost too easy to tell Garrett that that had been the exact reason he'd been spending time building a reputation as a hunter. Coulson and May were the cream of the hunter crop before her escape from Purgatory. Now, they _had_ to have the answers to save Garrett from his fate, should some hunter finally get his goat. Garrett had gotten on board. He'd been so damn proud, and touched.

And that was how Grant Ward, demon, had gotten permission from the King of the Crossroads to become a hunter, and a damn good one at that.

All because he believed that Ward was trying to find out how Melinda May escaped Purgatory. What Ward was really doing, though, was working to cozy up to the hunting community, trying to get close to Phil Coulson's band of hunters, and their knowledge. Coulson's team was special. On Coulson's team, if you weren't trained by a Man – or woman; it was said the legendary Peggy Carter had trained Coulson – of Letters, you were a Men of Letters legacy. If you were neither of those, you were an export from the Isles, _also_ trained by Men of Letters. They had all the hunting skill, and the vast Men of Letters knowledge; between the six of them, they had to have the answers Ward was looking for.

Was it possible for a demon to regain their humanity, and if it was, _how_?

And for the last year, all of his hard work had paid off. Coulson had invited him to join up with their band of merry hunters. Antoine Triplett had vouched for him, all because of the werewolf he and Ward had hunted two years back in North Carolina. They'd brought him into their fold. Their traveling circus.

Coulson's little red 1962 Corvette had grown on him. Maybe it was because it was made the year he 'died'. It had to be something, because it regularly drove him nuts, looking at the thing and trying to figure out how the hell the man fit a gun locker in the trunk. Coulson's foster daughter, Skye, on the other hand, had a vehicle with a much more sensible trunk: a black 1967 Impala. With those two cars being the staples of their group, Ward fit in perfectly with his 1972 Charger.

“Hey!” A thump on the bathroom door. “Ward? You fall in? Should I send Trip in to get you out? You knooooow, we have to be on the road soon if we want to get to Pensacola in good time.”

Skye.

Ward looked in the mirror once more, staring into the black of his own eyes. Then he took a deep breath, straightened up, and turned.

“He lives!” Skye yelled when he opened the door. “I really thought we lost you for a minute there, Ward. Come on,” she waved, heading back towards where they'd parked the cars while they stopped for food and bathroom breaks. “I'll race you to Florida.”

“No one is racing anywhere,” May said, tossing her bag back into the Corvette's trunk.

“No, no, this could be interesting.” Coulson commented, stopping in the middle of opening the driver's side door. “Race?”

“Not with the route you take,” Ward joked.

“Oh, that sounds like a challenge.” Trip grinned from where he was standing, leaning against Skye's car.

“Because it was,” Ward shot back. “First one to Pensacola pays for the motel rooms?”

“We are going with Ward,” Fitz announced, jumping up from the picnic area. Simmons, his partner in crime, nodded firmly.

“He usually wins these things.” She commented with a shrug.

“Trip.” Skye said firmly. “Get in the car.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Trip grinned, heading around the side of the car. “See y'all in Pensacola. Don't be late.”

Ward dropped into the driver's seat, Fitz sliding in across from him, and grinning. Simmons climbed into the back seat, shoving their jackets across the seat, and leaning forward, her arms crossed on the back, chin resting on top.

“So. How will we be beating them today?” She asked, as the engine roared to life.

“Just wait and see,” Ward commented.

As they peeled out of the parking lot, Fitz and Simmons whooping, he took a second to remind himself; he wasn't supposed to like them.

Turning onto the highway, watching Fitz fuss with the state of the art car deck he installed a few months back, he chided himself.

Demons could lie to others, but there was no point in lying to himself.


End file.
